Memento Mori, Part One
November 3, 2013 at 5:59pm
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth.
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
– Arthur O’Shaughnessy
The date is sometime mid-August of the year 2043, going by the East American Underground’s current interpretation of the Christian Calendar. My name is Kaj. This is to be my first entry.
I am being followed. Whether "hunted" or "trailed" more closely agrees with reality I cannot now say with much certainty. I am inclined to believe the latter, however. This — thing — has been following me for years. At least a decade, maybe longer but my memory Pre-Event is foggy on a good day.
Somehow I know it will not follow me inside the coffee bar. Experience tells me this. When I reach the entrance and spot the familiar old sign, "Mary’s Bean Counter," I take full advantage of the confidence it inspires in me and glance behind me as I open the door.
It’s there.
My eyes avert after some fraction of a second, as if from the sun. In all the years I have been aware of this, this "entity," I have never been able to hold my gaze on it for much greater than a half second. When you stare into the sun, pain induces a reflexive recoil, bypassing "you" altogether. But, if one were so inclined, one could progressively conquer that reflex. One could, as it were, develop a tolerance to the pain.
But with this entity, this Darkness … It is as if the entity is in direct contradistinction to the sun. The sight of it inflicts no physical pain, but o that it would! Nay, what it inflicts is infinitely greater, a pain that strikes at the deepest part of the psyche, so that to lay one’s eyes upon it is to lay one’s eyes upon a fundamental madness in the universe itself – something which had heretofore remained unseen. It is to be suddenly and violently awoken to the horrific reality that our neurons work tirelessly to keep ensconced deep in our u*********s mind.
Whereas one might acclimate oneself to pain, the Horror produces the inverse effect, becoming exponentially more powerful as one contemplates it and with each viewing. And while the sun has inspired countless religions for its worship, the Darkness … has killed everyone who has seen it — in Time. And it has inspired a great deal of them to take their own lives rather than live another day with this Entity. But I fear even death is no escape from this Entity…
This last encounter left me more shaken than is ordinary. It occurrs to me that I will not live forever, and I might not even live much longer. I feel I must finish my story before I die.
I have been at a table in Mary’s Bean Counter since entering the cafe. I must stop writing for now, because there is business to discuss with Mary. She does not know about the Darkness, or even that someone or something has been on my trail. I cannot let her find out. She would think *I’m* insane, and I might lose her. That’s a risk I simply cannot afford to take, so concealment is necessary. Sometimes a white lie is necessary for the greater good.
Also, the Darkness is not the only one who is in pursuit of something; I am searching for something, too. Mary is currently my best hope of finding it. She has been after the Grail for as long as I have, maybe longer. I know that by sticking with Mary I will find the Grail, I simply know it. I can feel it somewhere deep inside my heart, in my soul. I know not what form the Grail will take, but I know that when I find it, I will recognize it.
Some from the Old Days say that man built machines to serve man but machines became too complex and a switch was flipped. After that, man became robotic in his work and home life and lived to serve the machine. He forgot how to be a man. I don’t know if this is true or just a myth, but it sounds like they were dark times. I am blessed therefore to live Post-Event.
There may be confusion now, but at least a man can be a man. At least I can find myself without someone breathing down my neck, waiting for me to approach my inner self and screaming when I got close. Except for the Darkness. That’s always there. Waiting. Watching. Ready to swallow my soul. Or maybe eating it bite by bite. Who is to say which Age is better? Certainly not I.
Chapter 2
The course of life is unpredictable… no one can write his autobiography in advance. – Abraham J. Heschel
I sustain my investigations on a diet of leads and luck. On this occasion, I am following a lead Mary gave me. Surely she wants something in return, and when I have it I will be quick to give. We have a good relationship, which is based on reciprocity.
I arrive at an old man-built brick building, decrepit but not without a certain charm as one of the remaining buildings from before the self-erecting orgo-buildings supplanted them almost everywhere. I am met at the door by an elderly man, bald with hair over his ears. I’ve been told by Mary that his name is Dr. Witten. The Doctor invites me in.
"Do you know how deep it goes?" He says. I had just been wondering how deep the "rabbit-hole" goes. It is as if he is reading my mind. "How much do you know?" Sometimes I feel like I know nothing.
"I don’t know." I feel like it goes infinitely deep. A frightening falling sensation comes over me, and just as quickly vanishes, right when Dr. Witten starts speaking, as if his words fill the void and cushion my fall.
"Well, I’ll just assume you know nothing." He casts a sidelong glance at me and smiles. "And I’ll just assume you know everything." He talks in riddles and paradoxes as we walk around the capacious room. "I’ll give you a few bites to chew on. We’ll see how you digest that and maybe later I will give you a few more. You must start slow or you’ll get sick." Another glance and smile. "This food is rich."
"Tell me about the Grays," I command, feeling hungry and confident.
He stops walking. "Ah, I was right to assume you know everything. The Grays," he says, making a sweeping gesture, "they were the real earth-movers. Back in the early part of the century. They were the ones who could tell you what a trillion dollars feels like in your back pocket. Have you heard of the Whites?" He seems eager to get off the topic of the Greys. He rests his hand on an old-fashioned looking television set which closely resembles, and perhaps is, a CCTV. I wonder what use an old man could have for that. Security? But all he has are books, and besides, I didn’t see any cameras outside when I came in.
I shake my head to his inquiry. It’s not entirely true. I’ve heard mention of the Whites, mostly when I was a k**, but I don’t know much of anything about them. A white lie.
"The Whites," he says, making another gesture, more poetic this time, "are the really interesting ones. The Reds — well," he chuckles, "I’m getting carried away. First things first. The Whites were the dogs, the guards, the playthings of the Grays. Indeed, the creation of the Grays. Cyborgs, my dear sweet young boy."
"You mean gears and circuits? I thought such things were fantasy."
"Such things are. But I mean bl**d and bone. They were designed to be indistinguishable from humans in almost every way, even if you were to cut one open and look inside, which occasionally happened in other countries. Governments rightly thought they were being spied on from within. Now I can only tell you as much as I know, and I won’t even tell you that much. You will have to figure the rest out for yourself. I can’t tell you why but it must be this way."
"What can you tell me? I will take whatever you can offer. I have a special purpose here, I can feel it. Fate is on my side."
"And I believe you, for some reason by God I believe you, you self-absorbed beautiful thing. I can tell you there was really only one White. Or thousands, depending on how you look at it. Let’s not get into the metaphysics of it, I’ll be rambling all night. But their processors, their brains that is, were all connected, sort of the way the original wireless internet was, or is that before your time?"
"I remember it … a little. What more can you tell me?" The more he gives me the more I want. I want to know all the secrets at once. I thirst for knowledge like never before and this man feels like the key to all the answers I need.
"It’s OK my little puppy, don’t strain your brain trying to remember. I have a feeling you have more than a few guardian angels watching over you," he says mysteriously.
"What does that mean?"
"What do you hear?"
"You speak in riddles old man."
"And you spit venom young snake. Grow some legs or be doomed to crawl on your belly forever," he says, somewhat ominously. "Goodbye for now Kaj. Fate will bring us together again. Hopefully hope is indeed on your side."
Chapter 3
I can’t sl**p when I think about the times we’re living in,
I can’t sl**p when I think about the future I was born into,
Outsiders dressed up like Sunday morning,
With no Berlin wall what the hell you gonna do.
-Yeasayer
Martin Gortner. Martin Gortner. I have to remember: Martin Gortner.
Dr. Witten provided the name of one of the few, one of the very few open Whites. I need to talk to him. I know this is what I must do to begin the next leg of my journey. I can not tell you how but I know. I know it in my bones.
…
I see a large man standing under an awning in the far end of a closed alley. As I get closer, I begin to see the size of the man. His frame is enormous, making my slim frame look sickly by comparison. "Are you Martin?"
"Who’s asking?"
"My name is Kaj. I was told by Mary’s acquaintance, Dr. Witten, that I could find you here."
"What do you want?"
"I don’t know exactly. I thought maybe you could tell me. Dr. Witten told me about the Whites. He mentioned the "Reds" but didn’t elaborate. I am looking for the Grail. I expect you have information that can help me."
"So you just show up with nothing expecting to be given information? And you’re looking for the Grail? You might as well be looking for Santa Claus. No such thing, idiot. You better leave if you know what’s good for you." The man stands straight at me like an impenetrable wall.
"I’m not leaving. You can beat me to a bl**dy pulp, but I’m not leaving until I get what’s owed me."
"Owed? Excuse me? I do not *owe* you a damned thing. I’ve never met you. You show up at *my* place and threaten me?"
"I’m not threatening. I just want information. I was told you had some."
"You’re an odd one," he said, eyeing me askance.
"So then I am."
"OK," he gave in, "I can tell you a little. But I must warn you first: You are better off not knowing this information. It is a liability to me, and it will it be for you too. Do you still wish to proceed?"
"Yes." Zero hesitation.
"Operation Red Sulphur. That’s what it was called."
"CIA?" I guess and Martin laughs. How quickly he’s gone from tough-guy-act to helping-hand. How did I do that? I must remember.
"No. The agency without a name. Think of it as the shadow government’s CIA. The experiment was one of eugenics. Or dysgenics, depending on who you ask and when you ask them. They were breeding the most aggressive humans for centuries. Something about soldiers, perfect soldiers. But as Russian fox breeders could have told you, when you breed an a****l for one trait, the product winds up having unintentional traits on top of the ones you were breeding for."
"Like what?"
"Well, for the first few centuries, the Reds just became more and more aggressive, like they were expected to. And for some reason, they became thin. Their muscles were dense, powerful. The cages for them had to be re-designed every generation just to contain the b**sts. The Madder Reds, as the experimental subjects were called, became more and more wild, more and more feral, less civilized. They became hairy and rough. Their speech became fast and aggressive, less focused on getting a point across and more focused on releasing anger. Then something strange happened."
Martin pauses. Looks meaningfully at me.
"What happened?"
"The hundred sixty first to hundred sixty second generation was born completely civil. Sorry, civil seeming, I should say. Their aggression became sublimated. Their skin was smooth. They were clever, but insidious, much more dangerous than their predecessors."
"Why would being civil and witty and hairless make them dangerous?"
"You’re a little slow aren’t you? It was a mask. A mask of civility that allowed them to talk their ways out of the cages, out of bondage and once free, once that particular pandora’s box was open, there was no shutting it."
"So the Reds escaped and their descendants live on today. Fine. How did the Whites break free of their bondage to the Grays. And why are they called the Grays and Whites anyway?"
"I like to think the Grays are called that because they were dirty. And the Whites were clean, moral. But that’s just me. Everyone has their opinion on it, maybe nobody really knows anymore."
"But they killed everyone, they killed my parents, how can they be the moral ones…"
"Did they? You are here, aren’t you?"
"You’re starting to get on my nerves." I don’t know where this nerve came from, but it seems to have the right effect. "Tell me how the Whites went rogue?"
"Well they couldn’t disable their tracking systems inside themselves, they were organically grown alongside their neural networks. They would have had to destroy themselves to do so."
"So…"
"So," he repeats with emphasis, taking charge, "they disabled the tracking systems from without. The satellites. They infiltrated the Chinese defense computers, reprogrammed their missile destinations. Then they staged a false attack with dud missiles from Iran, and when the Chinese responded to the threat, they inadvertently destroyed the tracking satellites. For their own freedom they were willing to cause complete and total chaos in the human world."
"Tell me about the Whites and their relationship to the Grays," I ask, both testing him and digging for more information.
"A little demanding aren’t we? What’s the magic word?"
"Come on, I’m not a little k**." I don’t want to lose the clout I feel I’ve gained.
"The magic word!" He puffs up to his full intimidating size.
"Please."
"Nope. It’s abracadabra." He starts laughing hysterically, his face turning red.
Then Martin’s head explodes, half of it going up like an snake’s unhinged jaw and half remaining where it had been. He’s been shot. I look up to the buildings around me, crouching instinctively to make myself a smaller target. This all happens before I’ve had time to process what I’ve just seen. I just watched a man get murdered. Probably because of me. But all I can think of is: HIDE, HIDE, HIDE!
Chapter 4
As you well know, I fuel my quest for the Grail on luck and leads. I most recently related my following of a lead. The lead didn’t end well. Now I shall relate to you the former. I am again putting my faith in fate – if someone is trailing me, random movements should throw them off my scent.
Upon Martin’s very untimely death, I sneak away and I go to the neighborhood that is allegedly a breeding ground for the freed Reds. From what I gather, they have interbred with normal humans for enough generations to quell their more aggressive tendencies, so I should be safe. And if anyone is trying to predict where I’ll be, they would never guess here.
As I walk, for reasons beyond my grasp a certain quote from a spiritual leader in the Old Days – before the Event – bubbles up to my consciousness. "The recrudescence of Dionysus comes when we realize science is merely arrogant and grandiloquent, all its positive attributes worn on its coat, highly visible and external. But its tumorous rapidity of growth has been to the exclusion of what it cares not a whit for, and coinciding with said growth is anguish, ennui, and myriad problems on a human dimension." I remember liking the quote when I first heard it, though to be sure I couldn’t fully comprehend it at that young age. Now, however, I am more ambivalent. Not that I believe it has been proven incorrect, but rather that it stands to be shown whether it is or is not. I certainly have heard my share of horror stories of the pre-Event times when humans had to pretend to be robots to fit into the Machine. But those are just fairy tales, or course.
Before I can get my thoughts straight on the matter, I see a fight break out on the street in front of me. Two skinny men, their arms flying faster than I can see. Most of the punches are blocked or dodged. I am scared but in static awe, unable to take my eyes from the beautiful dance of their fight.
These must be the Reds.
As soon as that thought occurs to me, more Reds start coming from the buildings all around me. They jump into the fight. It looks like an old fashioned martial arts movie, like one from the early 2010’s. If these are Reds after their aggression has been allayed from interbreeding, I would not want to stumble upon a purebl**d.
I jump into a doorway and shut the door. At the top of the staircase, an orgo-door immediately opens. A well dressed older man enters the hallway.
"Hello, young man. And who might you be?"
"My name is Kaj."
"And…?"
I don’t respond.
"What brings such an exquisite young specimen to my door?"
"A fight broke out outside. I was just –" An exquisite young specimen? I start to question his motives. Is this man a homosexual? I don’t want to lead him on. However, I’d prefer that to going out with that storm of punches and kicks outside.
"Hiding."
"…Yes." I cannot tell a lie.
"Well then let me invite you in. I can not very well just leave you out here in good conscience, now can I?" In good conscience. Is that really what he means? Or does he just want me in bed with him? Am I getting myself into something I can’t get myself out of? Trust. Have trust. The body goes where the head looks, so look on the bright side.
"Thank you very much." Cordiality seems the best policy. Don’t upset him, but keep him at a distance.
He holds the door as I walk in to his house, an orgo-building with its characteristic organic sheen.
"Let me pour you a cup of tea," says the older man, who then walks into what I take to be the kitchen.
While he is in the kitchen, I hear a sound coming from the door adjacent me. It sounds similar to the sound of cats fighting. I glance toward the kitchen. He’s humming while he makes the tea. I get up and walk toward the door with the sounds. I open it a little. My curiosity is getting the best of me when –.
I see an arm tied up to the wall. Panic stings my mind like an electric spiderweb. Before I can see any more I hear the man return from the kitchen.
I feel a slight pressure on my neck.
…
I wake up. I can’t move my hands. I struggle. I can’t move my legs either. I open my eyes and see the man who let me in sitting on a chair in front of me. He has a pleased look on his face, like "Oh, you’ve woken up!" I look to my right. I see the man whose arm I saw through the door before. He is all sliced up, from head to toe, a bucket below him to catch the pooling bl**d dripping off him. Looking forward again, I see the man approaching me, razor blade in hand. His eyes shine.
He cuts my forehead. I can handle the sharp pain as it tears my flesh, but the warm feeling of bl**d dripping down makes me nautious. I’m not capable of handling this. And yet, here I am… I keep staring at his teeth. He has a smile, like he’s doing me a favor in torturing me, and he has this really rather beautiful smile with straight white teeth, that in another situation would be charming but are instead the very definition of menacing. Who – no, what – is this monster. What kind of creature could do this to another creature – not a lion or something that does it instinctually and doesn’t know better – but something that knows full well what it’s doing and does it anyway. And with such alacrity.
"Why? Why are you doing this? Please. I did nothing to you. I’ll help you, please. Please. I have many dolors."
He smiles. "Help me?" He stops cutting. "Help me what? Help me find my next meal?" He points to the man on the wall next to me. "What could I possibly need your help with? I own you my lovely talking meat. I only want to see you beg. And you are doing quite well so far. But don’t you have a f****y? Friends who need you? Those are the really scrumptious morsels."
"OK, so you want me to beg? I won’t do that. I don’t know how yet but I can help you. I am here for some reason. I survived the Event for some reason. I need to be here. I know I survived for a reason. Killing me would be a grave error."
"Really? Interesting. A grave error," he chuckles to himself. "Perhaps God brought you here because he heard a rumbling in my belly," he says, bringing the razor blade up over my shirt, up to my neck. His eyes shine like an unearthly dragon, hungry and alive. Fully awake, like he’s on amphetamines. But somehow I know he’s not. He’s high on my soul.
What happens next is unclear. It’s a wild blur. Something inside me, something I have never recognized but that is also somehow deeply familiar, that has always laid there inert and unmoving, surges up. I break the chains. I let go of my civility like a mask that I hold up and I break right through the metal chains with my bare hands and I stretch my thighs, breaking the ankle chains. This power comes from an unknown and powerful place.
Somehow the feeling of the fight gets tangled with the memory of the fight outside. I have a power and quickness that I never would have guessed I had. He swings and I duck and punch him under his chin, knocking his head back. I kick downward on his knee, following instincts I didn’t know I had.
The kick knocks him onto his knees. I jump above him, kicking down to his face as he tries to block with his hands, but he rolls and sweeps a left kick, catching my ankle as I jump. I fall back, catching myself hard on my palms. We both get up at the same time. My adrenaline is flowing at this point and I am feeling more alive than I have felt in I can’t remember. A flurry of punches, blocks and dodges. I manage to get to the door, escaping this invigorating but life-threatening fight. I run through the tea room to the foyer, out the door.
I jump the stairs down the hallway to the door and run out, charging full speed.
I almost wait just to mull over what just happened, to ponder wherefrom those instincts came. But the neighborhood feels dangerous and I jog away.
Chapter 5
…
I flash back. I flash back to my c***dhood, pre-Event, in my mother’s garden, collecting stones. I flash back to chasing after a rabbit behind my house, chasing it under a tree. Back to playing with toy soldiers in my parents’ driveway. To being on my roof with my b*****r.
My b*****r.
How could I forget? How many years? How long has it been?
Since I have remembered him? John-Paul. That was his name. John-Paul.
Sitting on the roof, looking through binoculars at the cars driving by on the freeway, John-Paul remarking that the cars and trucks looked like bl**d cells moving through a vessel.
…
I feel the slight dance as a bicyclist and I weave around each other on a narrow pathway. I am on my way to see Mary. She called me, told me to come see her. She said it was urgent. I’d never heard her sound so panicked.
I trip. A backpack lays at my feet. Did the the bicyclist drop it? I look back. He’s gone. I pick up the bag and open it. A mechanical pencil, a notebook, old, and — a liquid drive! I don’t have a quantum processor, but Mary does. I look down the pathway again for the bicyclist. No sign. Well …
I wonder whether Mary will let me use her processor or whether I will have to give her the drive and let her relay what it thinks.
I start to feel that uneasy, familiar feeling. The Darkness will appear soon. I walk faster.
I arrive at Mary’s Bean Counter at 31.50. "Hey, thanks for coming."
"What’s up? Why did you need me?" I ask, eyeing her small perky breasts under her leather jacket, as if that could possibly have anything to do with her reason. I immediately feel embarrassed at my small-mindedness. But I console myself with her beauty. Who, I ask myself, would not feel aroused in her presence?
"OK. Listen. There are some things I’m going to tell you that might shock you. I know we’ve known each other for a long time, and maybe you’ll wonder why I didn’t tell you some of this before, but for now please just listen."
"…Sure."
"I need some money."
"Why? Don’t you have–"
"Just listen. Please. I’ll explain why; I wouldn’t ask you for something like this and not tell you absolutely everything, but for now, you’ll have to wait. I’ll cut to the chase because this is extremely fucking pressing." (I’ve never heard Mary swear before.) "I need 6000 dolors."
"I don’t have that kind of money, Mary."
"Please, help me, you’ve got to help me, just think of some way I –"
"Wait. Hold on." I get the bag I found off the chair and open it. I hesitate a moment. Is this right? Then a feeling of certainty comes over me. A feeling of, I can do no wrong. "I just found this. I was going to take it to you anyway, but … I guess you could sell it if you need the money."
"Jesus, Kaj, a liquid drive? Where’d you get this?" She looks at me, incredulous, almost mistrusting. "Did you steal this?"
"I found it on the way here. I swear it. This bicyclist rode by, I don’t know if he dropped it or if it was already … but it was just lying there, almost as if it were waiting for me. Placed there for me to find." She stares at me.
"…I’ll … I’ll take this in the back." She walks away still looking at me, finally turning to look where she’s going.
"You’re not going to use it are you?" I ask. With liquid drives, once you use them, you change the information that’s on them. You put part of yourself into it, which for some people and some drives adds value and for other combinations detracts. It’s all about the right combination, which isn’t something that can be known in advance. As far as I know.
I sit on a chair and turn on the TV. I take the hacked remote and flip to ETV.
ETV is a series of "stations," if you want to call them that, of alien broadcastings we have intercepted over the years. They are unlike anything humans have created, certainly in the pre-Event era at any rate.
The pre-Event era television, as I understand it, was primarily propaganda aimed at the oppressed in order to indoctrinate them into a "slave mentality." They would be larded with bits of drama or humor to trick the viewer into believing they wanted to watch it, all the while structuring the cities of their neurons in such a way that the world of their body (to carry on the metaphor) would be manageable by those in power. Of course that’s a greatly over-simplified illustration, but roughly that is correct. And that was in the days when power was the only known good of those in power. Before they saw the spinning – well, I’ll get to that later.
Mary returns from the back as a complexly colored fractal pattern dissolves in a burst of intriguingly spaced clicks and hums into a sort of crescent shape then falls over and erodes. I think of Jean-Paul.
"This is big," she says, holding the liquid drive.
"Tell me."
She sits down. "OK, you know of course how pre-Event rapturs were considered to have a mental disturbance? Mental illness, they called it. You know; your mother was a raptur, right? Well — get this — that broadcast you were just watching … it may have come from the moon … inside, the moon."
"Wait. I’m confused. What do those have to do with each other. And — what do you mean, inside the moon. Are you saying there are people in the moon?"
"There were. Or aliens, rather. And maybe there still are, I don’t know. But there definitely were." She shakes the liquid drive, as if to prove it. "Apparently the moon was created — created, as a sort of beacon from which to observe life on Earth."
"Mary, the moon was created billions of years ago from a collision with the early lifeless Earth. No intelligent life could have existed then." She looks at me, then at the liquid drive. "I knew you wouldn’t believe it."
"That’s because it’s not true. That’s obviously bogus intel, planted to misinform someone. And I found it by accident. And we’re going to sell it so you can pay off your debt."
"But I didn’t get to the best part yet."
"Oh I can’t wait," I say, "what’s the best part?"
"Don’t you want to know how the stations in the moon relate to the wrong diagnoses of rapturs?"
I give her my best deadpan stare. My I-am-not-amused look. Although I am. I could listen to Mary talk all day, or watch her as she talks, I should say. The words don’t matter so much as the rise and fall of her breasts under her synth-leather impeccably styled jackets, and the catlike movement of her synth-leather vacuum-tight pants hugging her perfect curves.
"They wanted them to be misdiagnosed. Kaj, they understand rapturs. This is huge! Do you know what this means? Rapturs are one of the biggest mysteries in the universe; the most advanced superorganisms can’t crack them. And here," the liquid drive, "here is the key."
"The key," I repeat robotically, not really listening. Key to what? The Grail? I think not. *I* will find the Grail. And I will find it on *my* terms.
Chapter 6
The ETV entrances me as I try to listen to Mary.
"We need to take this to Dr. Witten," she’s saying. A stuttering ghostlike hum emerges from the TV along with opposing flickering sin waves and sort of bouncing bluish wisps. There’s some beautiful fluid intelligence behind the mathematics of it, but it feels like it’s just beyond my mind’s grasp. "He’s the one I owe the 6,000 dolors to," Mary is telling me. "He performed a surgery on me. A vital surgery." Mary’s face momentarily blends in with the dark brown image on the TV, and the fractal swirls almost seem to fall onto Mary’s skin. They look like light blue outlines of clouds tumbling over each other in a kaleidoscopic manner, and with each tumble a new lock of cloud falls lower on Mary’s face. I look at her. The illusion vanishes.
"OK, what — what surgery?"
"It was just a routine — I — I had — cancer."
"Nobody gets cancer anymore, Mary," I say, feeling slightly stupid saying what surely she must know. "The worldwide vaccinatory gene insertion went out during the Event." She turns her head slightly. Was she born after the Event? Almost nobody is born post-Event. That was and is part of the death toll, in fact the greatest death toll of the Event: that humans could no longer reproduce.
It is still not known whether the Whites did this, or if so, whether intentionally, but very few, and only of a certain character and set of abilities, have been born since the Event. The inability to produce life cost a lot of people their minds, and they added to the death toll by taking their own life. It’s almost like they lived on an equation: If life is not good enough to be passed along, it is not good enough to be lived.
"Well, Kaj, I had it." She leaves it at that.
"Let’s get this to Dr. Witten."
Whites don’t get cancer. Their bodies work much like a human’s body, but without errors. Their brains are their most peculiar parts. They are largely similar to human brains, but with different (though, again, quite similar) algorithms, and with little additional structures between neurons that act to broadcast and receive the collective brainwaves of the White society.
The autumn air bites as we walk to see Dr. Witten. I think of the Whites, which makes me wonder what a brain is processing, what rules it uses, what cosmic logic it follows, when it considers another person’s internal state, or, for example, contemplates another’s attitude toward oneself or a friend. I am forthwith overcome with the sense that life is a cosmic game that Mind plays. I feel like I might vomit and change my mental topic to the problem of the rapturs, a comparitively more tractable problem.
"What are you thinking about? You always look knee deep in thought."
"Knee deep, perhaps, but I master no thought. I was just thinking about brains. Processing other brains." I don’t tell her the truth because I don’t want her to know I am really intrigued by what the liquid drive revealed. Even if I don’t believe it, why was it there? Does it mean anything?
"I think there’s a nugget of truth at the lowest level of the brain, and all the rest, things like what does this person think of me, which is just how is this person related to me, is built upon this nugget."
"And what is the nugget?"
"I don’t know. Just some fundamental physical law, something."
I can never tell, when talking about these things to Mary, whether she understands well or not at all. Whether she is just humoring me or really thinks about it.
"Maybe you’re right," I concede, not really paying attention to what I’m saying.
Arriving at Dr. Witten’s, Mary knocks as I continue along my thoughts. I once imagined that the deeper one considers things in general, the deeper his appreciation of the world, and the thought stuck. The habit grew on me. Thought is all one does or is, so why not perfect it like one perfects playing a piano. But is playing a piano thought, *mere* thought? Or is it thought *and* action? Does it matter?
"Hello, hello."
"Hi, Dr. Witten." Mary is always much freer in her associations than I. I must admit it causes a tinge of jealousy.
I say what feels like a stilted hello and we walk in.
"All of life is a game, to all people. It’s just a matter of making your game seem necessary enough to everyone else that you get to play it. That’s what television used to be. Now it’s the Whites’ job … Do you have my money?" Dr. Witten seems to feel he owes us wisdom before he can ask for something or get into the meat of our meeting.
"Well … I have something equivalent, better in fact." Mary pulls out the liquid drive.
"Oh, and what do we have here? A liquid drive. What is on it?"
"You won’t believe it."
"Shouldn’t believe it," I mutter.
"This stuff about the moon and –"
"And the alien bases on it and how it was created, yes I know." I look at him in disbelief.
Mary says "Oh." She looks profoundly disappointed, like her lottery for a million dollars turned out to be for a million lashes instead.
"But what’s more interesting," he says, as he turns toward me and slowly raises his right hand until his index finger points toward my face, "I heard you had a run-in with Red Sulphur’s crowning achievement."
"Uhm. Y-yes. I did." Something about the way he asked unsettled me. "You know him?" I feel uncomfortable with the change of subject for two reasons. I feel like what Mary has to talk about is of more importance, and I’m still unsure of what happened back there. Still spinning fast, too fast. I need a handle. Usually Mary is my handle, but it’s like she’s just letting me spin. The world is playing games with me. Is the Darkness growing? I can’t see it but I feel it must be, surely it must be growing.
"As a matter of fact," he says, gesturing for Mary to give him the liquid drive, which he then hands to me. "His name is Hannibal. You will be meeting with him shortly." Mary shoots him a look, which is returned as what I interpret as a mirthful glance. "And don’t worry. I spoke with him, and there will be no disharmony, I made sure of it. Hannibal can be quite civil when he wants to."
Let’s hope he wants to, I think to myself.
"And what makes you so sure he’ll want to," Mary says for me.
"Mary, Mary, have faith. The Reds are not the barbarians they’re made out to be."
"You know they want to –" She looks at me. Apparently she doesn’t want to share too much in front of me. But she continues: "You know the Reds are looking to superorganize. They could be recruiting. If you want to put yourself in danger, go ahead, but don’t send Kaj in there."
"Actually, Hannibal was quite impressed with Kaj’s instincts, so I suppose he would make a good recruit," he laughs, "but we both know that’s nonsense. They don’t have the capability, first of all. And they wouldn’t chance binding with a non-Red! Not to mention they are far too independent, fiercely independent, to superorganize. They would be a shizophrenic superorganization. Each moving in his own way, but cursed with the knowledge of each other’s full and real existence. It would be a mess of epic proportions. Now the Whites, they truly are a work of art of the absolute highest caliber. Nothing like them has ever graced the Earth."
"You sound like you’re in love with the Whites. And regarding the Reds, that’s bullshit and you know it. They don’t have the capability to make the technology perhaps, but with their clout as a group, they can certainly get it. And I know you’ve read the Ger-Dill Papers."
"OK, I don’t mind going," I say, to keep the pleace, as that’s always sort of felt like my God-given job. "I’m not afraid, but could someone please fill me in on what you’re talking about?"
Mary sighs. "The Ger-Dill Papers, they outline the theories of Ger-Geschwind and Dill-Galaburda regarding the various possibilities of binding between different groups. Specifically, the equations that show whose WTP (that is: will to power) would dominate in a Red-non-Red binding. It would take hundreds of non-Reds to prevail over a single Red."
"Mary, please, let’s not teach our friend outdated theories. Ger-Dill doesn’t take into account the effect of the vicious cycle the Reds live in, where their slightly amped up aggression multiplies when living exclusively with Reds. Their ego dominates because it has to. Ger-Dill never did the maths for a Red-White binding. There are those, myself among them, who believe that a Red-White binding would result in a great, possibly gradual, diminution of the Red WTP, or even the complete and instant dissolution thereof as it is engulfed by the White WTE (that’s will to empower, my sweet charming boy, if you didn’t figure it out by yourself." Mary’s eyes are locked on Dr. Witten’s.
"WTP, WTE? I’ve never heard these terms."
Dr. Witten starts to answer me, patiently, but Mary cuts him off: "You should take that to Hannibal."
I look at one, then the other. "…OK." Mary looking at Dr. Witten, he watching me. I walk out. When I shut the door, I hear their conversation heatedly start up again. I hope they’re not fighting over me, but my gut tells me they are.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I arrive at the house of pain, as I’ve come to call it. Hannibal’s home/human-butcher-shop. He wants to meet in the meat locker, where he tortures his "dolls" as he refers to them. I wonder briefly whether he uses this term to dehumanize them to make torturing, killing, and eating them easier on his conscience when I get an unsavory surprise.
"Their souls go just as deep, sometimes deeper, than mine. I find out what a man is truly made of when he is being tortured and facing certain death. Some beg and plead. I can’t lie, I enjoy the beggars. It makes me feel like God to be worshiped. I am the one who decides whether you live or die, whether you feel pain or pleasure. But some, some can endure anything and cannot be broken. These are the most interesting. It’s a almost a shame when I eat those. To eat an unbroken soul seems something of a sacrilege. I have discovered this over time, which is why I have learned to have patience. Some don’t break for weeks or months, but eventually do. But some: some don’t break for years. I have stopped eating those. I keep them in permanent bondage in case they break, for the longer they can endure, the tastier they are."
"Enough!" I can’t endure this talk anymore. Humans are not food. "I am here to give you this and that is all." I feel dirty just giving him something. I am rewarding filthy b**st.
"Ah! A liquid drive. And what, pray tell, is on it? Have you looked?"
"Mary did. She added nothing but good. She is very intelligent and has been searching for the Grail longer than I."
"Sorry? I didn’t catch that. Did you say, the Grail?" I nod. He laughs heartily. "You are a c***d! The Grail is a myth! It is based on an old religion, Christianity. There is no Grail you silly fool. Look at you, you don’t even know why you’re alive. I’m glad I didn’t eat you, but you would have been better off. Pathetic. Come look at this."
He takes me downstairs, to a steel cellar. "Jean-Paul," he cries out musically, softly. "Oh, Jean-Paul. Time to wake up." Then I see it. At first I only see a disgusting, used up, scarred, bleeding, worn out shell of a man, with his hair thinning and his face gaunt. "I have someone here to see you Jean-Paul."
At this point, Hannibal lifts Jean-Paul’s face to look at me, but it’s as if he sees right through me. He lets his face drop. "How does he look?"
"Pretty bad, I must say. But why are you showing me him?" I extinguish my hatred.
"Don’t you recognize him? Have the years been that harsh on him? Oh well, I must take some credit," Hannibal says.
"My — my b*****r!?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Seeing my b*****r locked up is a hard blow. Mary and Dr. Witten could not have known. They would not have done that to me. Hannibal said Jean-Paul was his longest-running "playmate" (his word). I know now what I need to do. I need to get Jean-Paul out of his bondage. He used to be so full of life.
The problem came when I demanded that he be set free, my "courage" a combination of having already fought with Hannibal, a feeling of being d****d in safety because I was sent here by Dr. Witten, and a feeling of having to act due to the severity of the situation. Surprisingly, Hannibal was more than willing to part with this "doll." He unchained my b*****r, and watched with me as Jean-Paul extended his arms out like a "t" to be chained again. What did this mean? An act of defiance or a loss of the ability to choose freedom? Could I just drag him out? No, I can’t decide for him. This is what he is choosing, for whatever reason he has. I take some comfort in knowing he hasn’t begged.
I leave in a hurry, in disgust, fear, emptiness. How can this sort of thing happen? Is there any oversight at all or is the world complete chaos?
I try not to think of that thought when the Darkness finds me. God, how it’s grown! It is truly, deeply, horrifying. I must get away, but it feels like it’s enveloping me. My vision starts going black. It’s not cold, it’s just…
CHAPTER NINE
Mary leads me into the Bean Counter. "I want to show you something," she says, and the bar starts to move. It folds and swivels and slides and contracts like some kind of hallucination, leaving a door-sized opening abutted on either side by rows of liquor bottles and mirror. I look to her hands for a remote.
"How did you do that?"
"Come in, Kaj."
I follow her through with a melange of trepidation and excitement through the jagged opening. The room is a matte black; the only detail I can make out is it looks like it’s made in small rectangular sections. I look back just as the opening folds and slides and swivels as quickly as before, leaving complete blackness. "How did you do that?"
"I am the door," she says. I smile at the absurd statement, racking my brains to decipher what she means by it.
"Is that funny?"
Before I can respond I feel her put something on my head. I bring my hand up and touch what feels like a rippled bicycle helmet. "I never knew you were a door."
"I’m also the scanner on your head. Let me explain: think of your greatest fear."
I think of the Darkness. It has a face. A monstrous face. I panic. I can see it. It’s coming toward me.
"Describe it."
It has huge eyes. "It–" And– it’s gone. I… don’t even remember. I remember that I was afraid just a moment ago, but of what I have no idea. Some distant memories that I can’t access. I’ve… been here before… I think.
I search my mind. I try to trace my thoughts back, nothing. I start before the fear and try to go forward, nothing. I ask myself what I’m afraid of, nothing. The lights turn on and I see Mary in front of me, watching me, smiling.
"A part of you, an aspect of your personality, a portion of your mind, it’s still there, still, in fact, in fear, but it’s disconnected from you. Is it still you? What is or are ‘you’? Think about it."
I have a vague idea of where she’s going with this. "You turned off part of my brain?"
"In a manner of speaking. It’s still awake, but I’m preventing it from communicating with the rest of your brain. It has no access to any part of your mind that controls your body, so you aren’t talking about it or running away, your heart isn’t beating faster than normal. But if I stop–"
It’s coming at me, huge black eyes. Its mouth opens. I fall to the floor and– what just happened?
"See, whether or not this is part of you or, essentially ‘someone else’ is entirely up to connections. Hence…" she blinks, then the lights in the room turn off and on, "I am the lights, and the door, and the scanner. And the entire universe."
"You can control the universe?"
"Let us explain as much as we can before making our proposal. We are the Whites. Our mind is connected to, in control of, that door, these lights, myriad other things around the globe. Things like the door, with no sensors, we can open and close, but we receive no feedback, we don’t feel it. It is essentially a part of our mind. Other things, thermometers, earthquake detectors, barometers: these are part of our body. We feel them. We consider ourselves to be everything, but most of our body is paralyzed, numb. We would like to change that."
"You’re crazy. You want to become God."
"We already are. We just need to become more powerful *as* God. And you are going to be one of our checkpoints. You are going to be the first human to be absorbed into our mind, into the superorganism. We have been watching you, preparing you, grooming you for your shining moment your whole life. This is your time, enjoy it. This is your cosmic alarm clock. I wish I could experience what you’re about to experience. The newness of it. The awesome power of it. But I grew up in it, I was born into it. It means little to me. It excites me to think they’ll have a new recruit though. This should be interesting. I wish I could experience. I’m already dead."
"What do you mean, I can see you, talk to you. You’re not dead."
"Compared to being part of the Web, I am dead. In order for us to prepare for you, we had to make a sacrifice, and the form of that sacrifice was me. I am but a spark of my once great self. I never felt like an individual part of the Web, I felt myself to be the Web in its entirety. Compared to that magnitude, I am just a flea now. It is a big step down," she admitted with her head paradoxically held high.
She removes the cap from a syringe. It has a silver-black substance in it. It looks like the stuff in the liquid drive. "Put out your arm."
I do as she says. I’m ready. This is the Grail. This must be the Grail. What I’ve been waiting for. She slides the needle into my vein and pulls back on the plunger, a small puff of bl**d shooting into the syringe and mixing with the silver, then pushes it in. There’s no turning back now. I feel a wave of fear as–
She was right. We were the same all along. I can see the sky, it’s Australia, my name’s Tim. And petting a dog, my name’s Elissa, I’m in Switzerland, I smile. I can remember my whole life as Richard Barlow, growing up in New York, we are all the same, I was here all along. I just couldn’t access these other parts of me. I am simultaneously thousands of people, and they are me. I am as invested in their story as in Kaj’s. I smile at the door and open, walking out in front of me as I recall the Event in all its splendor. The Plan is moving along well.
PART 2
We start at the end.
CHAPTER ONE
"The war will never end. Not even when we win totally. Because then, even then, we will need to grow more powerful." Kaj illustrated his point to Fantasia.
"Well, I’ll work for you, but I’ll never join you," Fantasia retorted.
"That works for me, for us." Kaj could always think of the appropriate thing to say to get the reaction he wanted. He had the simultaneous resources of 20,000 cloud computing minds to his advantage. But Fantasia was still a struggle. She had a gift. And not just her natural beauty. She was technologically enhanced to be the perfect woman, pheromones, curves, power, she could capture any man with a look.
If she had to, she could fight with the best surgically enhanced men. Her beauty was her God-given gift, but it was *she* who had parlayed that into making enough money to afford the best surgical enhancements.
"The ones who least want to join us are the ones we need most. DO NOT waste our time with weaklings."
"Is it fair to manipulate them in this way?"
"Forget fair. They’ll see the light. And they’ll see that it’s beautiful. Anyhow, when has fairness been a part of your business equation? We know your bottom line. That’s what makes you safe. That’s why we chose you. "
It’s just a matter of time until I get what’s mine, thought Fantasia. But what will happen after that?
Kaj enjoyed talking with Fantasia. She could keep 20,000 minds on their toes at once. An elegant and complex, multi-layered dance of words and expressions and sexual tension. Did she understand her true power? he wondered.
"You love me. I know you do. All of you do. But give up that dream right now. You’ll only hurt yourself." It appeared she did understand.
"You’re a star baby, I could never reach you," Kaj winked at Fantasia. "But time is of the essence, get started as soon as you can." The dance was getting too technical. Even with all his resources, Kaj had to get her moving within *his* plan before she caught *him* in hers, whatever her plan might be.
"I’ll give it my all."
"That’s all we ask."
She left to get on with her mission but Kaj remained on her mind. Who was he?
CHAPTER TWO
Fantasia understood the importance of timing. But her interaction with Kaj left her feeling lost and off-balance for the first time in ages. She was looking for a sign. She could sense a wave of momentum behind her, propelling, compelling her forward, always forward, but to where she wasn’t certain. She had no patience for hindsight.
Her first job was a joke. Literally. Reds are violent by nature, but having confronted the magic that is Fantasia, physical v******e was off the table. Fantasia was simply too beautiful to destroy. The joke was in love. "I’m yours I’m yours for seven and three scores." Pathetic. The joke reverted all the way back to rhyming slang. He clearly wanted her and was willing to embarrass himself to get her. He had no idea how unattainable she was, especially to such small tricks. Rhymes. Who can’t rhyme? She was lightyears beyond this nobody.
All she had to do was walk back to White headquarters. He followed like a puppy without a master. The trap was set and he was drawn into the Web. Twenty five pure-bl**ds left to go. This was going to be easier than she had anticipated. She left before the process took place – before the injection was administered. She was willing to do dirty work, but her psyche required that she be shielded from the darker aspects of what she was really doing.
CHAPTER THREE
Kaj now had the power to save his b*****r. He could fight like always, he understood himself better, he understood Hannibal better, and he understood the situation better. The only mystery was his b*****r. How could he hold out so long? What was it that kept him going, through all this pain?
Kaj arrived at the orgo-building where he’d experienced that surge of instinctual fighting ability hiding deep within his psyche. His b*****r should have that too. Why didn’t he escape when given the chance?
Kaj walked up the stairs, and before he could knock, Hannibal stepped out. "It’s nice to see your meat again, although I’m afraid the dinner bell does not ring for you. I missed my one shot at that. Well, I missed one shot. I believe I know the reason for your visit. And I believe it’s not to chat with me."
"I want to see my b*****r," Kaj said, hate boiling underneath, vision turning red. MY b*****r, he thought.
"My guest, won’t you be my guest," Hannibal said. He led Kaj down into the dungeon.
Jean-Paul was there like before, chained arms and legs to the wall, bl**d dripping down, electrical wires hooked up to him. "This critter is about as unbreakable as they come," Hannibal said proudly, putting a hand on Jean-Paul’s shoulder and causing him to wince in pain.
"Release him," Kaj commands.
"As you wish, my good fellow." Hannibal undid all the chains and released the electrical wires. Jean-Paul fell to the ground.
His face was that of a terribly old man’s. "Put me back!" he commands!
"Isn’t it just fascinating?" asked Hannibal, more to himself than to Kaj.
"Jean-Paul," Kaj said, "You’re free now, can’t you see? I’m here to free you."
"You can’t free me," Jean-Paul said madly, "YOU CAN’T FREE ME!" His eyes are wild with passion.
"Shall I return him?" Hannibal asked politely? "It’s nothing personal, I didn’t know either of you when I captured this specimen. But an interesting one he turned out to be. Unbreakable. Inedible. I can’t fatten him up because he eats the bare minimum, not that I could eat an unwilling dish anyway. It could be similar to the situation where a prisoner comes to feel more at home in prison. The structure, they lack it on the outside, they lose the ability to make choices."
"You. You monster." Kaj said, and walked out.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next five fell into line as easily.
Then came a challenge. Two Reds together. The moment she started getting one, the other would snap him out of it. Time felt as if it were speeding up for Fantasia. Fantasia had to speed up her mind to keep up with time’s inertia.
She began questioning her own motives. Did she really want to do this job or was she tricked into doing something immoral?
No, I can’t think that way, she thought. Which of course was a lie, because she just did. There are things we must tell ourselves to sl**p at night. It is not a solvable problem. Now you’re infected, although you were already infected. Since the Event, we all are. But I can cure you.
Fantasia popped a purple pill in her mouth. I’ve made a deal with the devil, haven’t I? she thought bemusedly. She felt something she’d never felt before: the urge to impress someone. Kaj had a strong effect on her. But she didn’t believe in love. She knew we hurt what we love. She didn’t want that.
But her thoughts kept returning to Kaj, like a merry-go-round returning to a smiling, encouraging mother. The man of 20,000 faces. Who was he? Was he himself or was he all the 20,000 Whites? She had full confidence she’d figure it out. But not by joining them. There must be another way, she thought. There must be.
Fantasia led these two whites like the others. One would cover the eyes of the other, but he’d feel compelled to peak at her beauty and would subsequently walk forward, then he’d have his eyes covered and the other would walk forward, and on like this until she led them to the Web in time. Like two stupid puppies, each trying to save the other from quicksand but both falling in together. Again she avoided watching the dirty part of her work. She left that to the Whites.
The next ten went the same way, but with greater numbers paired together; up to four at a time. Then came a challenge. Her secret was out. This Red was hiding. She had to find him before she could trap him but word was out that a beautiful woman was luring these warriors into a life of servitude to the Whites.
When her conscience finally caught up with her, she was in the middle of a job. Just one question rested on her lips: why? "Why do you need the Reds. Why do you need specifically those that would want most not to join you? Surely there are plenty who would like to join you. Why not take them? Won’t your collective strength over them mold them into whatever form you desire?"
They responded simply, through Kaj, "The Controllers, as we call them, in the moon; they possess what we want. They have controlled human affairs and destiny on Earth for millions of years. This is a power we must acquire, for only we know how to correctly weild it. The Reds are warriors. Adding weak people to our Web will only weaken us. We only get strong by allying ourself with the strong."
"But this is not an alliance, this is a full hostile takeover. This is thought control."
"Are you so sure?" Kaj said, and it was left at that. After that, Fantasia didn’t ask anymore questions. She got back to the Red ghetto to find the hiding Red.
She finally found the Red hiding in a box. He found her rather. He came out of the box and looked at her. But rather than follow, he did something clever. He spun. Her beauty was a trap, so he couldn’t stare, but her beauty was too awesome to not occasionally observe. She had to think of a way to make him stare long enough to follow. She finally came up with the idea of dancing. Her eyes shone like a predator’s as she gyrated sexually.
Fantasia received no pleasure from adulation. It was too easy a game to play. Her game was bigger than approval. She had a gift and she was going to use it. Might as well make money with it too, she figured.
The 25th Red was behind a door. She stared mesmerizingly into the peephole and saw it go dark then light again. He had seen her beauty. It wouldn’t be long until he fell into the trap.
But then she heard a whimper and a certain sound like cutting meat, sawing bone. She pushed the door open, which was hard because the 25th Red’s body was slumped against it. He had stabbed himself in the heart rather than join the Whites. She looked at his still open but faded eyes a long time before getting up – they seemed to say something to her. Something in a non-human language. Did she do this to him, she wondered. But the show must go on. The paycheck must come in.
The 26th and final Red was not mesmerized by Fantasia’s charms and so turned out to be her biggest challenge. This one, Hannibal, was fiercely independent. "Think," he said, "How did you get here? Is this real to you or just a game? Do you realize the effect you have on people? The Whites think we’re incomplete, you and I. And my many b*****rs, the warriors that you sold into servitude. They think we need to be forcibly perfected. Well, I can truthfully tell you that I don’t feel incomplete, I don’t feel a need to be perfected."
"How about a game of Go. Loser joins the Whites." Fantasia asked knowing that she would win. She had practiced under grandmasters before the Event.
"Deal," Hannibal agreed. You just made a deal with the devil, Fantasia thought smirkingly. But this time it’s a deal you can win.
As they played, Hannibal showed remarkable restraint and foresight. He was certainly no beginner. If Fantasia was a Lioness, Hannibal was a Dragon.
Hannibal spoke as he played, as if the game were nothing but checkers. "What’s more important to you, your own power, or subjugating your power to others."
Without hesitation she answered "My own."
"Then why do you lead these free men, my b*****rs, into slavery, into this trap."
Again with no hesitation, "Money."
"That is a fate worse than death. I have killed many men in battle, and that’s made me who I am. But I would never trap a warrior in a life of subjugation. I don’t possess such cruelty in my heart."
In the Go game, he consistently broke her formations in half, and with finesse. He did something that until now, only Kaj had been able to do: he kept her on her toes.
"I am beyond good and evil," she said, more trying to convince herself than Hannibal.
"Are you so certain? Without good and evil how do you decide what to do? Surely you know what’s good for you. And why would the good be any different for us Reds than for you?"
"You’re playing semantic games with me, let’s just finish this game." Referring to the Go battle.
Finally the game came to an end. They counted their territories and found it was a draw. So neither had to join the Whites. She would need to return empty-handed with only a story to tell. What would they think?
She arrived at Dr. Witten’s mansion just in time to find Kaj leaving, looking dressed for war with spiked leather gloves. She said a quick salutation and goodbye and he was gone. Dr Witten was dressed all in black. In due time he flipped on the cctv he had hidden in plain sight. It showed Kaj battling Hannibal, a good fight – they seemed well matched. Hannibal had the advantage of being born from death, in more than one way, and Kaj had the advantage of life, 20,000 of them, to help him move fast and intelligently, as well as his partially Red bl**d. Fantasia had a neutral but intense interest. She rooted for neither side but desperately wanted to continue watching when Dr. Witten turned the screen off.
"We are giving you a choice." Dr. Witten said. "You may join us or not."
Not much of a choice, Fantasia thought. If I don’t join, I’ll face the fate of Hannibal, certain death. That’s my choice, to be or not to be. Well, I still want to live. "Hook me up then."
Dr. Witten pulled out a ready syringe, already full of black liquid. He injected her. "This will counteract the purple pills we’ve been giving you and allow the nanomachines to do the necessary work for you to tap into the cloud mind. You will still be in control of yourself, you’ll just have more resources. You will see."
And with the injection, she saw. She saw the light and it WAS beautiful. She always was all of the Whites. She had Kaj’s memories, because she always was Kaj, she just was disconnected from her larger self. She was god awakening. Her mind took time to refocus. And when it did, she thought to herselves, This is a discrete jump from individuality, a different kind of existence. The Plan is moving along nicely.
We begin at the end